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It stung to admit the bastard had a point. That was a hurdle he would overcome later.
“I don’t intend to sit around waiting to be executed for a crime I didn’t commit. I won’t let Lukka spin the narrative, either. I killed no one who didn’t deserve it.”
The man hissed. “Maybe we will wait and let fate deal out your punishment in due time, rogue? If Lukka doesn’t rip you apart, your own packmates will.”
Bill didn’t even waste his breath arguing. There was no point. Instead, he watched the man fade from view before he bounded toward the house—though a nagging voice at the back of his mind warned that the bastard had been right.
Loren would be better off without him.
Alive or dead.
16
Patrolling the boundary wasn’t his excuse for staying out all night this time. Just reluctance. Oddly enough, rather than fade beneath the trees, he lurked outside the house in plain view without ever leaving the yard. Loren even caught a glimpse of him from the living room window, prowling in the form of a black wolf. Naomi and Micha must have sensed him as well, but they said nothing—and no one made any move to go outside and see for themselves.
He obviously wasn’t in the mood to talk.
His irritation prickled the air like the scent of smoke mingled with his usual aroma of pine. He didn’t want to be bothered. Not yet. For the first time, his presence wasn’t a comfort, though. Loren barely slept, curled up by the window.
McGoven’s vigilance contributed only partly to her unease. The nightmares were more intense than ever, descending the second she closed her eyes and haunting her until she wrenched them open again. No longer was her pursuer a distant shadow. He was closer, visible just beyond her peripheral vision.
Watching.
Waiting.
Ironically, much like McGoven.
Only when a tendril of pale daylight pierced the darkness did she find the nerve to creep into the kitchen. On the way there, she passed a snoring Micha who lay sprawled in the middle of the floor and Naomi, who slept soundly on the couch.
Before she reached the doorway, she could sense someone prowling in the room beyond. The scent of pine gave his identity away in a heartbeat. He must have entered the second she’d gotten up—though he managed to find a pair of sweatpants at least. For now, his back was to her as he rummaged through the food Sonia had stocked the fridge with. In the end, he resurfaced with a packet of tuna and moved to grab a loaf of bread resting on the counter. He silently assembled two sandwiches, but Loren didn’t refuse when he abruptly offered her one.
“You have questions,” he declared before taking a ravenous bite. “Ask them. I’ll answer what I can.”
Nothing regarding whatever happened in the barn. She knew without asking that topic was off-limits. Thankfully, there wasn’t a lack of pressing issues needing to be addressed.
Squaring her jaw, she picked one issue at random. “Those men. What did they want?”
He frowned and took another bite. “I don’t know.” He admitted after swallowing.
“But they aren’t going to leave you alone.” She could sense the tension in the air. Even the way he moved screamed vigilance and hostility. He was on guard more so than before.
“No,” he said gruffly. “You either. But believe it or not, they aren’t the biggest threat facing us at the moment...”
Us.She swallowed at the word choice. Though, what did he think was the main threat they faced? He seemed unwilling to voice it out loud. Instead, he glowered at the window. The sky seemed perpetually gray these days—a stormy hue the same color as his eyes.
“That man,” he began. “You didn’t smell him before you entered the house, did you?”
Shame flooded her cheeks. “No,” she admitted—but when she inspected his expression, she didn’t find any blame or anger there.
“There was a reason for that,” he said with a nod. “Can you explain why?”
It was a question dangerously close to the one her father always uttered, “Care to explain?”Only, his tone lacked any malice. She knew in her gut that he wouldn’t strike her for a wrong answer, either. With that in mind, she took her time, parsing through every interaction. One glaring oddity stuck out.
“He smelled strange,” she said, cringing at the memory. “Like sulfur. It was awful—”
“Or, to put it bluntly, it was deer urine,” Bill said with a harsh scoff. “It’s a dirty trick. Something young boys might do to sneak out of the territory unnoticed. The scent of prey overpowers anything nearby. It’s instinctive, you might say. When we hunt, it allows for us to zone in only on our target and let nothing else distract from the pursuit. But it can also be used as a double-edged sword outside of a heightened environment. Especially in a place like this where prey animals live full-time. You’ve grown accustomed to the scent of horses, for example, and it allows other lycans to cloak themselves and mount a surprise attack. Or,” he added dryly, “it allows a lycan to hide in a barn and overhear a private conversation.”
“I didn’t know…” she trailed off as she recognized what hedidn’tsay outright but merely alluded to—he knew her scent thoroughly. There was something primal in that knowledge that made her shirt feel tighter, and her throat constrict.
